This is an open and unfiltered diary-style journal
on the life of James Robert Smith.
This blog will contain sometimes graphic experiences (both beautiful and ugly),
sometimes stark insight, and all honest and factual documentation of dreams, diet, activity, and thoughts.

Pages

A colossal tidal wave is rushing through the city. I can see it in the distance. In slow motion I manage to dash across the road and jump atop a building just in time before the water rushes by. I’m safe up here. I discover other survivors. It’s understood that gangs will be formed in the aftermath. I come up with our gang’s name: The River Saints. With a dull permanent red marker I draw the name on a piece of cardboard.

Me: “What do you guys think?”

All of a sudden the level of the water in the streets recedes and there’s no need for this apocalyptic mood. We can go back to our normal lives.

▬ ○ ☼ ○ ▬

I’m driving, on the job delivering for China Wok. I make a wrong turn into a side street off First Colonial Road. It’s not very well lit and there isn’t much turning space. In the meantime I disturb a pit bull, which starts barking incessantly at me. Throughout this dream sequence I shift between driving my car and being on foot, depending on the scenario. It’s almost like my car is simply an extension of my being. A young black girl walks by with an attitude and says something about her brother being a threat to me. I tamper with any sexual tensions between us and move her in closer, my hands fondling her lower backside. She’s responsive in certain moments but after a while she runs into the house. I’m afraid her brother will come out so I scram out of there. Unfortunately, the pit bull’s chain came loose and he’s chasing me down the street. At some point on Virginia Beach Blvd I just grab the chain and pretend he’s my dog for a while but the leash isn’t strong enough to hold so the dog runs away. I catch up to find a car hit the dog. He’s dead now. I’m in shock. But I keep driving. Word spreads to the brother and all of a sudden the whole city is looking for me and by the whole city I mean the street hoodlums. But nobody saw my face except for the sister so I use the lack of description in my favor. Discreetly I continue west down the boulevard. It’s a scary feeling because at any moment one of those agro brothers could spot me and I’d be doomed. Eventually, the road transforms into an assembly of blue gym mats. I join the crowd in crawling up the slope. Most everyone has a facial description in their hands of what I look like. I guess it’s not just the hoodlums looking for me anymore. I slip by a police officer. He recognizes my face and grabs my arm.

He speaks into the radio on his shoulder, “I found suspect number one. Need backup.”

I don’t fight back. He starts asking me questions.

I fear some of the black brothers might catch wind to this so I insist, “Can we please talk about this in private?”

He takes me inside an old restaurant where we struggle to find a private place. Friends of “the brother” spot me behind a glass door and attempt to come in. I turn the lock. They bang on the door in frustration. The cop and I run in and out of doors inside this compact hallway. I lead us into a crawlspace closet and up an overbuilt staircase with not much breathing room, a claustrophobic person’s hell. Only skinny frames can fit in here. The officer shines his flashlight to guide the way. As I make it to the top I discover it’s a dead end. I thought there was a door to the outside right here.

“Shit! We have to go back.”

At this point I give up and force myself awake.

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up around 1:30 p.m.

Blueberry Bagel with Non-Dairy Cream Cheese. Orange Juice.

Meeting with Danny and Anthony about the movie we’ll be shooting this summer.

...

Then, almost immediately, skyping with Aysena.

Downstairs the boys are rehearsing Pinball Locomotive songs. I join them on the last leg of the rehearsal.

Afterwards, Kevin and I get into a conversation with one of our neighbors, Ben. He’s a friendly 26-year old black guy sporting an Atlanta ball cap and sipping on Olde English out of a glass. He’s originally from Philly but just escaped from his ex-girlfriend in Florida and has been living in Chanticleer for the past few weeks. He seems like a smart guy with an acute awareness of the real things happening in the world. Our topics range from the military culture in Virginia Beach to gun control.

Meanwhile, I’m able to chat with Aysena on Facebook. Her best friend, Nurgun, must have talked some sense into her because she’s talking to me like we always used to talk, in light humor and sweetness.

Me: “I'm glad you are sweet and nostalgic now.”

Ays: “i know how we can live together and be super happy! we should live in farm! and make our grapes or berries or something.”

Me: “Yes we can live on farms. I know of a few places.”

...

Ays: “and we will live in love and peace

one day

with nature

with ground and trees

and sun and animals and music

and books and food

but then society will kill us

and we will die

and if i marry you must promise me that you will give me flowers every months and kiss me every day

and I will make you beautiful and happiest man in the whole world !

because I'm smart

and wise”

Kinder Chocolate.

Delivering an order off Commodore. After knocking on the door I notice a swarm of caterpillars crawling all over the porch. It must be caterpillar season. I accidentally stepped on one of the little guys before I even noticed them.

Off the exit ramp to Birdneck Road a homeless man blows on the harmonica to panhandle for change, a classic hobo scene. It’s a comforting sound, the sound of an old soul.

It’s a whopping 73 degrees outside. During a few deliveries to the oceanfront I’m privileged enough to experience the swarming flocks of people causing all kinds of traffic. Everyone’s at the beach today.

Five Guys French Fries with Ketchup. Water.

Darren comes in to help with the dinner shift. The beach area is a madhouse, herds of black people, young adults, and general tourists. I’ll quote Darren, “Dude its like a rap video down here.” Tomorrow we’ll read in the news this:

[VIRGINIA BEACH OCEANFRONT ROCKED BY VIOLENCE: Per the Virginian-Pilot, “Violence broke out across several blocks near the Oceanfront late Saturday and early Sunday, leaving several people injured and many more concerned after an event drew thousands of young adults. Police reported three shootings, three incidents in which a person was cut and three robberies. All happened over 4 hours between 17th Street and 33rd Street near the Oceanfront. Calls for the first incidents – a shooting in the 2000 block of Atlantic Ave., and a simple assault and larceny at 21st Street and Pacific Avenue – both came at 11:23 p.m., police said. The second shooting was reported at 2:58 a.m., in the 300 block of 33rd St. The third shooting, and the last call for violence, came at 3:13 a.m., at 27th Street and Atlantic Avenue. Virginia Beach Mayor Will Sessoms estimated 30,000 to 40,000 people were at the Oceanfront this weekend. One of the festivities was “College Beach Weekend 2013.”]

I just finished delivering to a pack of snobby ignorant black teenagers at The Grand Ocean hotel on 11th. They all paid separately, which makes it a minor hassle. I look through the receipts and notice a peculiar thing. Most people when they sign a credit slip with the intention of not tipping they’ll just leave it blank or rewrite the original total or even slash a line through the tip space. But this one girl decided to spell out the word “NO” in all caps in the tip space. I’ve never seen that before. It’s as if I asked her, “Will you tip me please?” and her reply is “NO”. Wow. Hope in humanity is lost.

†

Off work and back home.

Hot and Sour Soup. Broccoli, Snow Peas, and Rice.

Watching Love (2011).

Fortune cookie says, “The aim of education is to teach us how to think, not what to think.”

“Sometimes when I wake up, I feel like I'm still sleeping. I feel like all the colours and shapes of the world have collided, and all I can do is just sit there and watch.”

Apple Pie and a Cinnamon Roll. Honey Oolong Tea.

Researching – getting lost in a Wikipedia link chain mostly on space exploration.

This is the beginning of a letter Aysena wrote to me through her notepad app. She composed it and then took 6 different screenshots to send me. She felt I deserved an explanation on what she’s been feeling. It was hard for L-O-V-E to develop in our relationship. It’s true we had genuine feelings towards each other. When we first met last summer I was all open-armed and dived right into her cryptic ocean not knowing anything about the geography. I didn’t care about the pace. I had an opportunity for something unique and new so I took it. And she was pure. I felt pure with her. And during our winter months apart we stayed connected.

“...you left best memories that saved my feelings to you...”

And then I went to Russia. And we unearthed something we had buried for 6 months. But it was convoluted and confusing. We tried to fulfill expectations that had changed. Granted it was wonderful to see one another and experience adventures by each other’s side. But she felt something was missing.

“If we face to our future, I can’t say anything. I’m sorry. This is what I feel.”

The posting of last year’s blog entries have thrown a wrench into the machine too. She’s making judgments about my relationship with Margot from last year. It’s not fair that my dealings with long gone romances affect my current romances. That’s not how it should work. You should receive a clean slate, a fresh start. I guess there’s more to it than solely that but she seems pretty clear about halting what is happening between us. It makes me nervous. I’m stronger than I’d like to admit. And obviously long distance relationships are extremely difficult to maintain. And for me it makes more sense to be realistic and stick with my surroundings here in Virginia Beach, at least for now. But there’s something special about Aysena. I hope it’s not truly over. We’ll see.

It’s 1:36 p.m. I’ve been reclining in my bed reading and communicating with Ays for the past hour and a half. It’s time to get up and face the day.

Banana. Dried Apricots. Jasmine Tea.

I drop my car off at the shop on 17th for an oil change. While waiting I sit on a bench along the boardwalk and read Mats Jonsson’s graphic novel, Hey Princess. It’s a little bit windy but the smell of the nearby ocean is refreshing. I spot a couple leaning against the banister kissing. Virginia Beach is for lovers.

Trapped inside a hospital facility, a twenty-plus story building. I’m trying to leave but it’s understood that I’m a highly wanted criminal so this makes it hard to escape without being seen. I don’t even remember what I did wrong that could mark me a criminal. The F.B.I is after me. The cops are after me. The hospital staff is after me. In stealth mode I creep through brightly lit hallways and corridors, down stairwells, and riding elevators. They’ve spotted me! I dive out a window landing softly on a parking lot complex. They’re right behind me. I run as fast as I can and prepare myself to leap off the ledge. I jump into midair and flap my arms using my ability to fly. My chasers are in shock. I’m sure they’re wondering how it’s possible that I can fly. I soar high above the city, the wind brushing against my face. Having trouble controlling my altitude and direction at first. Swooping down near traffic, the walking pedestrians, and the string of storefronts. I go so fast and high tail it across the land covering miles and miles, far, far away from everything. A few weeks go by. Eventually, I’m hiking on a muddy trail along a river full of strange hostile marsh creatures. A small bounty hunter gang has spotted me. I jump off the ledge and fly low along the river, my legs pointed out in a laying down position. I gain more control this way. I watch a giant snake-like monster emerge out of the mud. I barely avoid its grasp. A few months go by. Now I’m on a school bus full of Russian speaking young adults. I might actually be in Russia but the terrain looks American. Behind me sits Aysena and another English friend. They know about my run-ins with the F.B.I. and are there to help me. I talk with them about my plans to stay on the run and tour the world. The idea is to never stay in one place too long. Just keep moving. Keep traveling. I think I might’ve convinced Ays to be my partner. We have plans to get married and live this crazy life constantly on the move.

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up late at 1:30 p.m.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

Dealing with the Blue Screen of Death (BSOD) on my computer – troubleshooting.

Falafel Wrap with Tomatoes, Hummus, and Non-Dairy Cream Cheese.

Watching Hick (2011).

Working on lyrics to revamped piano songs I started writing from back in the day.

Barbecue Garlic Salmon with Broccoli, Onions, and Rice.

Meeting up with James and Ana at Wanna B’s. This is my first experience at a karaoke bar. Ana’s somewhat of an expert at karaoke. Sipping on a Gin & Tonic and watching our fellow patrons sing. I perform Bobby Darin’s “Dream Lover” and “Creep” by Radiohead.

Afterwards, we meet at Rick’s Café. Sharing Fries, Pancakes, and good conversation.

Aysena sends me this picture of an excerpt from something she found online...

There’s an unsettling shift in this long-distance relationship. I think it’s actually taken a serious turn towards failure or at least a downgrade. We chat on Skype for about thirty minutes. I try to instigate small talk and ask questions about her weekend but there’s a look of heaviness in her face. She’s mentioned ending what we have before and I usually chalk it up to the lack of physical closeness. But even when I was there in Russia she alerted me to something that was missing.

Me: “I don’t believe you right now. You are like a rollercoaster. Just two weeks ago you can be all happy then all of a sudden this.”

“I was trying,” she says. She was trying. Just trying. That’s why she acted like everything was okay before. I don’t know. It’s a big mush of something. But I know deep down it only requires a simple understanding. Even though I feel nervous and sad, it’s not that tragic.

Me: “I’m a fighter. I’ve always been a fighter.”

And obviously we both know the difficulties of solidifying this relationship in the future. A lot of strings would have to be pulled to get her an American visa. Or I’d have to consider a move to Russia, which is something I’ve considered doing, even if only for a short time. Just let time take its course. Understanding and revelatory thoughts will come. I’m just so god-awful nostalgic. It’s almost a vice for me. I think it makes me a weak person sometimes.

Anthony, Kevin, and Richie are practicing downstairs. I give Kevin a hard time about how he keeps starting his violin melody on the wrong beat. It’s not really his fault because Chris isn’t here to support the song on drums so it’s hard to pick out the rhythm. It’s a playful debate back and forth...

Me: “Wait. You’re not listening to the 1. Listen. Here’s the snare.” And then I imitate the kick and snare on the table.

Kevin: “I know music Robert!”

Anthony and I have our neighborhood friend Moe meet us at the house. We take two basketballs and check out the Lynnhaven Middle School courts in hopes we can find some players for a game. Almost immediately we get locked into a 3-on-3. Unfortunately, my old Vans slip-ons aren’t cutting it for me. I’m developing blisters on my big toe making it hard for me to pivot. But the games are fun. The first bunch leaves and another guy named Matt joins us for 2-on-2. We play so many games I can’t keep track. One hour goes by. Two hours go by. Then three. The longest basketball session I’ve had by far.

Back home.

Apple.

Edamame.

Darren, Art, James, and I head to Chicho’s on 29th for the beer pong competition but we arrive too late cause the sheet is full. Art leaves. But Darren and I share a large Cheese Pizza.

Back at the house with James, Calum, and Leisa. We pop open our PBR’s and Mickey’s and engage in a few interactive games of cards, mostly “Bullshit”. Richie whistles nonsensically on the recorder flute while we play.

Shooting some hoops at the Lynnhaven Middle School courts. Then running on the track field. The air is cool and misty. I’ve grown a liking to this location for my runs. My imagination runs wild with nostalgic scenarios near these bleachers or over by that fence to somebody’s backyard. I’m thinking up stories, some innocent, some disturbing, and some sexy. But mostly I just feel elevated tonight.

Back home.

Pad Thai Noodles with Broccoli, and a Spring Roll.

Finishing the movie.

At the storage unit working out some songs on piano, my first true love. I’m hoping to incorporate more piano into my performance.

Exploring an old campground I remember from my teen years in Roanoke, Virginia. I’m with a gang of people, mostly friends, one of them being James Graves. He used to go to youth camps here with me. With skateboards and bikes in hand we ride up and down the familiar hills and dorms.

▬ ○ ☼

Getting out of bed at 11:30 a.m.

Instant Oatmeal with Bananas. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

It’s raining and it helps boost business and that makes me a busy driver.

One of our regular customers that I usually deliver to walks into the restaurant to pick up some food. I remember a week ago he didn’t have enough for a tip and promised to hook me up next time. He slips me $15 and says, “I told you I wouldn’t forget.”

Me: “Hey thanks. I really appreciate that.”

That was incredibly thoughtful of him, a real blessing. And this even makes up for yesterday’s loss. You can always trust the cosmos to take care of you.

I’ve been employed at another Chinese restaurant. There’re multiple drivers and they do everything differently. To enter the building I have to creep through a walk-in refrigerator to get inside and talk to the boss. While on a route my dad is with me. He’s much older than he is in waking life and has walkers to help him move about. After making a stop he gets left behind somehow. I go back in search of him.

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up at 11:20 a.m.

Blueberry Acai Granola Bar. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

A brief text conversation with Ana, reflecting on yesterday’s outing...

Ana: “I did feel like we were old friends catching up! Maybe because you are actually a nice and welcoming person unlike some people I have encountered recently. You know the kind that have their noses up in the air and overly confident? You’re a genuine character. That’s for sure.”

Me: “yes I know those kinds of noses in the air people. But most of my friends aren’t like that so I guess they shape me into this nice person. And maybe my mom had something to do with it.”

Today I made a mistake on the job, the kind of frivolous mistake I would never expect myself to make. But it happened. And it created quite a despicable situation for me. A customer calls and places an order for Barnacle Ct. I go out on the run. I knock on the door to 1009 Barnacle Ct. I didn’t bother to look at the ticket because 1009 has ordered in the past. A black guy answers the door. “Chinese food, right?” I ask. He doesn’t say a word, signs the credit receipt, and I hand over the food. I didn’t think much of it until somebody calls the restaurant wondering where their food is. It’s somebody at 1008 Barnacle Ct. Come to find out I delivered to the wrong people. I’m in shock. So we remake the order and deliver it to the right people. Unfortunately for me unless I convince this black guy at 1009 to pay for the food that they DIDN’T order in the first place then I have to pay for it. So I knock on the door to 1009 and confront the people that live there. I end up talking with two black guys but the conversation is dull as they both deny that I even came here. One of them pulls a slight smirk on his face as I pry into the twisted situation.

Me: “All I know is that I came to this address and gave somebody food and they signed for it.”

Guy: “Well I’m the owner of this house and nobody took any food here.”

Me: “This is ridiculous! I was just here like fifteen minutes ago. My boss is going to make me pay for this food that you’ve already eaten. That’s fucked up. Don’t you agree?”

And then he has the nerve to say I’m lying. I can’t even believe this is happening. It’s useless. I’m not getting one ounce of help from these assholes. How can you stoop so low as to accept food you know you didn’t order and then play it off like it never happened? The guy closes the door eventually with no resolve and without any genuineness in his voice says “I’m sorry.”

I slam the screen door in major offense before I march off. “That’s fucked up! You guys are assholes!”

I keep walking, get in my car, and drive off while yelling back to him, “You guys are fucking assholes! Fuck you!”

In the car I’m shaking. I don’t do well with confrontations like this and they make me nervous. I’m shaken up. Just breathe, Robert. Compose yourself. But it’s difficult to do when faced with the scum of the earth.

...

Back at the restaurant I call the cops. A cooperative female officer comes by for a report. According to the story I’m not technically the victim but the restaurant is. So it’s up to my boss to press charges. And of course she’s not interested in coming to court over $20. I lose today. I really lose. Twenty dollars is twenty dollars. Money is money. But it’s the whole principle behind it that bothers me. I want justice! And it requires too much work to get it. Even if I get this guy’s information and file a report myself it’s gonna take at least two months till the court date and he probably won’t show. I’ll get a default win but then what? How will I get the money? Go up to his door and ask? Send him an official letter? Hire a debt collector over $20? The whole system is ridiculous. No wonder some people might take matters into their own hands, become vigilantes, and fight for their own justice.

Peanut Butter Bagel. Goldfish Crackers. Apple. Lemon Water.

God, today has been such a shitty day. Not only do I still have to pay for those scumbag’s order ($22 and some change) but my tips aren’t proving very generous. I’m just in a terrible mood.

There’s two Filipino kids running around the restaurant while I snap the snow peas. They’re holding toy weapons from the Ninja Turtles, one of them with Donatello’s bo staff and the other with Raphael’s twin daggers. Despite all the fiascos I’ve experienced today these little guys offer a bit of brightness and relief. The younger one (with the daggers) stands by my seat and asks a million questions. Whenever I answer him he responds back with “why”.

Finally clocking out of this God forsaken day. I head over to the Russian’s apartment in Chapel Lake. With Art, Darren, and James practicing our beer pong skills. I chow down on Fried Chicken with Garlic Sauce, Broccoli, Onions, Carrots, and Rice. For some reason my skill level is up tonight. Maybe it’s all the built up angst but I’m really killing it tonight. One cup. Two cups. Three cups. Win. Win. Win. It’s upsetting Art of course. His competitive spirit will never die. He keeps shouting funny broken English statements like, “Why it’s again?”

[Ha-ha-ha]

...

Art: “Alright, Robert. One more game.”

Me: “It’s always one more game, Art. When is it gonna stop?”

And so we play one more game. And then one more game after that. And another after that. He wins some and I win some. I think we’re matched.

I give James a ride back to the house. I’m still thinking about the delivery incident...

Me: “Man, it still pisses me off...those people. I just want to know why people like that exist!”

I’ve got a Musicplayer show booked at The Wesley House in Norfolk, right across the street from ODU. In contact with Ana Khrizzia, whom I know through mutual friends. I scoop her up from her house and she becomes my sidekick for the evening. It’s interesting because we’ve never really hung out before. But she’s always going to events and such so I thought I’d invite her and get to know her a little bit.

...

At The Wesley House. It’s just a house run by Christians. I’ve seen events on Facebook for this place but have never been here before. It’s a spacious room with a decent sound system. It’s not a packed show whatsoever, basically the only people here are members from the other bands, the volunteers, and a few other heads. I play a small acoustic set for about 13 people. Other bands play before and after me. Chatting with Ana and some acquaintances in a living room.

Afterwards, I park in front of Mama Jo’s off Colley Avenue and order a 14” Cheese Pizza with Peppers (both red and green). We wait in the car. Our conversation has a calm flow to it, no highs or lows, just fluid relations. It’s easy to talk with her. I eat most of the Pizza but she eats a few slices too. Washing it down with a Sierra Mist.

...

Then, I drive us to her friend’s house on 38th. It’s someone’s birthday, a small gathering of nobody I know. Two decks of cards spread out on the carpet – a forever game of Kings endures.

I drive past a guy waiting to make a right turn and spot a message smeared on the side of his car. Of course the pollen creates a canvas on everyone’s car this time a year. It says, “LEARN 2 PARK”. Haha. I wonder if he even noticed it. I can imagine being the person that wrote it and trying to park next to this guy the night before.

This is critical for all to understand. I’m not one to rub my face into politics frequently but the problem here is not political at all. Media cover-ups are real. It’s absolutely terrible the lengths these media conglomerates will go to cover up suspicious facts. It’s simple. Just don’t believe everything you hear or read. Consider the unexpected. It’s important to fact check the facts you think are facts. I try to keep with this habit. The truth is almost never painted in black and white in the media world.

Show N Tell tonight at Bean There Coffee off Laskin Road. This is the first time we’ve held it anywhere other than 1623 or 1435. It’s a decent turnout and provides a more collected organized atmosphere. A lot of new faces and Show N Tell virgins show up.

#10 -- Limo Bob, an older guy with many stories to tell. Bass performance and LOTS of talking about the old days of his younger years on Staten Island and the people he knew that became “somebodies” later on. Talks about The Beatles, wild tour memories of his travels with Kiss, etc. This guy played bass on that popular song in the 60’s, “Wooly Bully”. He falls off the stool while playing a Jimi Hendrix song and after he finishes falling announces comically, “You see that? And I’m still holding the guitar.”

#11 – Keegan Vo: More guitar music. Good strong voice.

#12 -- Tyler Davis performing with the melodica

#13 -- Wolf Dancer playing bass guitar...sometimes on one foot.

Back at the house we throw an after party. Anthony takes on the role of facilitating and directing the energies of the group. He leads the guests in sing-a-longs in the dining room. Then, a viewing of Kevin’s infamous short film he made when he was fifteen years old, which has achieved cult status in our social circle. He gives a mock Q&A after it’s over.

Spaghetti Dinner with a Salad (via James). Alenka Chocolates.

Later the kids arrive home from Rick’s. In the living room with Kevin, James, Dan, and Laron. Kevin recants fighting stories from when he was eight years old and shows us martial arts moves. He’s had a lot of drinks and tends to become overly fierce. Even though he’s dead serious we’re all continually laughing at his antics.

It’s understood that I’m being held captive inside this
facility. I look out the windows at the lake and the playground that I won’t be
allowed to make use of. I’m stuck inside this room with a girl who is about my
age. She might be part of the hostage situation. I confront her with an intense
hug that turns into something sexual. At first she seems adamant about not
permitting anything sexual but I convince her that this is normal. So we go at
it, perched up on a stool, on the floor, against the wall. There’s another man
in the room who watches from afar. But every now and then he gets uncomfortably
close, touching the girl or touching me. I reprimand him. “Stop that! Can you
please leave?” He doesn’t leave but sticks around. I don’t finish but that
doesn’t matter.

Talking with my mom over the phone. Dramatic changes have
happened in her life in Florida. Her and Jimmy are separating. Jimmy has been
my stepdad all through my middle school and high school years. Without getting
too deep into the situation I’ll say that the conflicts in their relationship
have cause my mom to look for love in other people. She’s found a happiness and
satisfaction in a close friend of hers. I make sure she understands that I
don’t judge her in any way in regards to these shifts.

Me: “God is love. Love is mysterious. Love works in
mysterious ways.”

Mom: “I love u son thank you for loving me
unconditionally...”

Exercising and stretching in my room.

Apple.

Practicing songs at the storage unit.

At home. As soon as I finish cooking dinner Leslie pops in.

Lentils with Onions, Mushrooms, Carrots, String Beans, and
Rice.

Taking a walk around the neighborhood. While sharing some
revelations I’ve been having she points out the intricate shadows formed on the
sidewalk from the trees.

Kevin arrives home after just getting off work. I’m already
geared up for a bike ride. He joins me. We ride down to Chicho’s and hang out
with Darren and Art while they participate in the beer pong tournament.
Afterwards, Kevin and I zip down Atlantic Avenue – heckling the clubbers on The
Block – swooping down the steep hills to the parking lot entrances. While
cruising we spot an angry dispute between a big dude and a girl. At some point
the guy is pulling on her hair. It’s more than likely just a drunken squabble.
But Kevin, with a sudden spring of inspiration and no ounce of fear, decides to
intervene, to be the hero, and ride by to tell this guy off. “Hey asshole!” he
yells. “Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?” I lag behind and catch
the expected reaction from the guy, which is to march towards Kevin and call
him a faggot. This guy is at least ten times the size of Kevin so I can’t
imagine what would’ve happened if we were on foot. Good thing we have our bikes
to keep a safe distance. Around the corner we run into this other guy (named
Jason I think) on a green beach cruiser. He apparently tried to do something
similar before us.

Errands. Bank. Visiting Elliott at the thrift store –
grabbing a few goodies.

Back home. I attempt to reach out to Aysena. She’s seemed
less communicative and uninterested lately. And she said something slightly
disturbing to me yesterday that kind of hurt my feelings and I wanted an
explanation about: “I think the day is coming soon when we can say goodbye
to our love and stay friends.” I insist on Skyping. She appears on the
computer screen.

Me: “Hey.”

Aysena: “Hey.”

Me: “So what’s been going on?”

The pangs of distance between us sometimes affects the
security of our relationship. I show her a picture of a Buzz Lightyear poster
from the thrift store (she’s in love with him). This sparks excitement and life
back into her face.

Me: “Is that what it takes to make you smile again? I have
to show you a Buzz Lightyear picture? Why do you like him so much?”

She opens up more about her personal struggles like what
she’s gonna do after she graduates in June. Her mind is clouded with a lot of
decisions. I understand where she’s coming from. In regards to what she said
before she explains it was just “stupid girl shit”.

I get a final message before she goes to sleep (cause it’s
about 2 a.m. in Moscow): “you always give me breath of life. miss you so
much and don't believe me when I say that I don't miss you .”

Repairing and tweaking the road bike Elliott sold me last
night. And then doing the same with the mountain bike I’ve had forever.

Kevin and Elliott coerce me into riding with them to the
beach. We meet up at Baja’s on 23rd Street. Chomping on a Fish Taco
and a Mango Greek Yogurt. Darren links up with us. Conversations ensue on the
recent bombings in Boston – the potential cover-up stories and the overwhelming
fear that is instilled in us from the popular media. Outside on the patio
Darren and Kevin argue about how many Sunsations stores there are at the
oceanfront. Kevin says only three. Darren says nine. Elliott and I take it upon
ourselves to cruise the strip and find out the truth. It’s a beautiful night to
ride – the chill breeze – the salt air. Even the obnoxious loitering on The
Block has an aesthetic to it. In the end we figure out there are eight
Sunsations stores in total.

*

*

Back home.

Tinkering on the guitar.

I get lost in watching old video footage from past
Musicplayer shows with the full three-piece band. I miss those times.

Locked in an unfamiliar bedroom on the first floor. The shades to the windows are wide open and the sun shines through brightening up the whole place. Aysena’s here and we’re having sex. It’s passionate and aggressive. At some point the open windows and sun bother us so I close them making it much darker. The scene takes a different direction after we fall asleep. I wake up to discover a strange man in our room. He resembles Stalin and has obvious hostile intent. He cracks a whip across the bed in attempt to hit me but I don’t feel anything. I flinch in hopes I can escape the dream but I’m still here. I decide to tap into my telekinetic energy. So every time the Stalin man cracks his whip in my direction I shove him across the room with my mind. It’s kind of funny. He starts falling through the windows, stumbling along the floor, breaking the glass. But he’s a persistent bugger and doesn’t stop trying to hurt me. I keep waiting until that moment when he’s about to sling his whip and then...POW! Rejected. This whole thing becomes boring after a while and I force myself awake.

Elliott and Jon Reynolds walk in. After describing a girl that works at Flipper McCoy’s that seemed attractive from a distance Jon tells us of a Japanese term that identifies the situation: Bakku-shan, “a woman who seems pretty when seen from behind but not from the front.”

Meeting up with Elliott. He needs to store some gear at my storage unit temporarily. He’s also selling a bunch of stuff, something he usually does every now and then. Him and I are both collectors but he’s better than I am at relinquishing his possessions.

While Darren and I wait for orders at the restaurant he cracks some of the same jokes I’ve heard time and time again.

Me: “No offense but you have a redundant personality. But I guess everybody’s like that anyway.”

Egg with Broccoli, Bok Choy, Onions, and Rice in Brown Sauce.

Off work and back home.

I invited two couch surfers to crash for a few days, this girl Lizzy and a guy friend of hers. The guy I find out has already been to Show N Tells in the past at 1623. We chat for a little bit downstairs. They’re both from the area but are starting a road trip, their final destination being Colorado. Darren brings up the topic of experiencing personal hyperrealism moments where sound and image become so pristine and clear all at once, but only for a moment. You could be driving on any given street at any given time, or walking somewhere at any given place, and all of a sudden it dawns on you.

Leading a rebel group of teenagers on a route to freedom. We locate an abandoned house that’s missing part of the roof and most of the walls. It starts to rain lightly. We scramble underneath the awning and situate our sleeping bags so we can sleep. After the whole ordeal I promise to give one of the girls a baby in return for my blue track jacket. She’s back in school somewhere. We make the exchange there.

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up just before 11 a.m.

Bagel with Imitation Cream Cheese. Orange Juice

All day shift at China Wok.

The pollen still cakes itself over any surface it sees fit. Everyone’s cars have a coat of yellow.

My body feels sore, I guess from all the invigorating basketball playing from the other day. In general I don’t feel good. My head is aching. But I’m calm. Too calm. Indifferent to most any troubles I come across.

*

Banana. Hot and Sour Soup. Goldfish Crackers.

Snapping the peas.

The day continues in this apathetic fashion. I’m unenthusiastic about most everything. But I can still put on a smile for the customers and the others I interact with.